


Bandages

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Art Student Zayn, Bottom Zayn, Firefighter Liam, M/M, Rich Liam, Soulmate Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top Liam, but like cupcake liam and bossy zayn, trust me you'll love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where everyone wakes up on their sixteenth birthday with a tattoo on their forearm of the name of their soulmate, trust-fund baby turned fireman Liam Payne keeps his tattoo bandaged up so even he doesn't know his soulmate's name. Zayn is an art student and volunteer EMT who kind of just wants to be all Liam needs regardless of whether they're meant to be.</p><p>(Basically, Liam says 'fuck you' to the soulmate system and Zayn pretends he doesn't know the truth.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that time in Sonnets where fanfic writer Louis was writing a Ziam fic that fanboy Harry couldn't wait to get to the end of? Yeah me too O:)
> 
> Shoutout to Drea Themelonlord on tumblr, who discussed this idea with me ninety million years ago when the idea of soulmate tattoos came up. You're a babe, always have been, always will be ;-*
> 
> Also shoutout to Katie Merrykatie, who screams at me a lot and really wanted a Ziam fic. I stayed up til 6am for you.

Zayn definitely isn’t here to gawk at the firemen. He absolutely isn’t. He’s a volunteer EMT and he’s trained in first aid and his purpose here is to help people involved in the fire to be healthy and recover from any injuries suffered. That’s his job here and he loves its purpose. He is truly, completely, one hundred percent _not_ just here so he can stare at the men emerging from the flames of this residence with a gaze hot enough to give them third degree burns.

It _is_ a nice perk though.

They haven’t even needed Zayn yet, anyways. He’s sat on the bumper of one of the three ambulances assembled at the scene, watching the relatively tame house fire burn away across the street. One man has already been led from the home and wrapped up in blankets before he’s shuffled off to another paramedic. A couple of firefighters are hovering on the lawn, appearing locked in conversation about something Zayn’s far too distant to hear, but if the wild gestures they’re making are anything to go by they aren’t exactly agreeing.

Suddenly there’s the deafening sound of every window exploding into shards at once and a tidal wave of heat as the formerly diminutive fire begins to rage. “Holy shit!” Zayn chokes out as he startles from his perch and a few steps back, despite being well away from danger. There are shouts about a gas line and now Zayn has to shield his eyes with his hand in order to watch the fire burn. He waits for everyone do as he has, staggering back out of danger, especially those on the lawn close enough to feel the flames licking at their protective gear.

And most of them do. It’s only one who doesn’t move, who flinches in surprise but keeps his feet rooted in place seemingly by sheer force of will. Then, before anyone can react to this development, the resolute firefighter is dashing forward, _into_ the flames instead of away, disappearing into the house like he was just waiting for the danger to increase before he made his move.

Now the other firemen are shouting in earnest, a man who appears to be the captain spiking his helmet angrily at the ground and shouting into the radio on his shoulder until he’s red in the face. Everyone on the scene is suspended for a moment,  watching in mixed horror and fascination as the fireman disappears into smoke and flame, tendrils of orange licking up into the sky like innumerable tongues of some horrid beast that’s swallowed the poor soul alive. Zayn feels his heart drop into his stomach. He’s never watched anyone die before.

But then, inexplicably, there’s a figure emerging from the flames, the lone fireman who was brave enough to enter the inferno coming forth once more with his arms cradled around a _puppy_ of all things. The man who’d been rescued from the house before surged forward to gather up the pug and smother it in kisses, and when the firefighter removes his helmet there’s a beaming smile on his sweat-shiny face. It drops right off though as the sight of man and pug reunited is replaced in his field of vision by his angry captain. There’s a finger wagging sternly in his face and in an abrupt turn of tables, the hero now looks like _he’s_ the one who needs saving.

Zayn’s feet are moving him across the lawn before he even registers, and he takes the fireman by one warm glove before he has time to think better of it. “Need to check him out, standard procedure, back in a jiff,” he says quickly over his shoulder to the captain as he starts dragging the fireman back towards his ambulance. He catches a glimpse of the captain’s angry face and thinks for a moment that his rescue attempt is about to be derailed by a lack of authority, but there are other men still fighting the flames and that provides just enough distraction for Zayn to push through the crowd with his fireman in tow.

He must already know the drill, because by the time Zayn finishes mumbling his instruction of ‘sit’ and retrieving his kit, the firefighter is already sitting on the bumper of the open ambulance and shrugging off his heavy jacket. He’s got a white tee shirt on underneath that’s nearly transparent with sweat and that should probably be gross, but Zayn just feels a little flicker of arousal. Transparent shirts mean watching his manly chest heave, and peeking at the happy trail of dark hair heading down towards his fire protective pants. Sweat or no, the sight of him was pretty --pun intended-- hot.

In fact, he was pretty much hot all over, Zayn notices as he looks his patient up and down. Even the dopey stare he’s giving Zayn now manages to be somewhat endearing. It also serves as a reminder to Zayn that he is _not_ here for gawking and _is_ here to be a medical professional, so he should probably do something medical soon. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks, waving a hand in front of the man’s distant expression.

It rouses the man --Payne, Zayn sees as he looks at the name tag on the jacket-- at least a little, and the startled flutter of his eyelashes gives Zayn the impression that if his face weren’t already flushed with the heat of the fire he’d be blushing. “What?”

“Are you alright? You seem disoriented,” Zayn repeats gently.

Soft brown eyes blink at him dazedly. “Right, yeah, I’m fine. I was just-- I was thinking something dumb.”

Zayn blinks back at him, unsure how to respond. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“That was incredible,” Zayn tries, hoping to steer the conversation towards something that would allow both of them to speak more than one word at a time. “It was stupid, but it was incredible.”

Now Payne grins again, whatever had dazed him before lost in a brilliant smile. “It’s my job to save lives, isn’t it? That’s worth risking mine.”

“Even for a puppy?”

“Of course,” Payne replies, face serious even beneath his delight. “Every life is worth saving, even a puppy’s. Especially a puppy’s, actually. Couldn’t let that little pug stay trapped in that fire.”

Zayn feels his heart stutter a little at the innocence and earnestness in a face so scruffy and mature. You wouldn’t think such a personality would fit such a man, but Zayn gets the odd feeling that it wouldn’t be right any other way. He clears his throat and fumbles around for something medical to do. “Guess you’re right. That’s why you’re the hero tonight.”

“Thank you for saving me from my captain, by the way,” Payne adds, pliant in Zayn’s gloved hands as he starts taking vital signs. “Going to get the reaming of a lifetime for that stunt, I can already tell.”

“What, is he more of a cat person?”

Payne giggles --fucking _giggles--_ and it’s a somewhat glorious sound. He shakes his head. “He just doesn’t like seeing his men in danger. Which is understandable, I mean, you have to weigh risks and benefits before running into fires. We just disagree about whether some things are too risky.”

Zayn checks his eyes for pupil dilation. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of death,” comes the immediate reply, quick as can be. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

It’s kind of an odd thing to say, seeing as how firefighters should probably have a healthy fear of fire, but before Zayn can think of something to say he’s distracted by the sight of a bandage on the man’s left arm, wrapped neatly around the appendage from wrist to elbow. “Were you already injured when you went in there?” he asks with sudden concern. “You shouldn’t be in the field with an injury, it’s dangerous--”

“No, no, I’m not hurt,” Payne rushes to assure him, right hand crossing instinctively to cover the bandage. “It’s not for medical reasons, it’s-- it’s to cover my tattoo.”

He’s referring, of course, to the soulmate tattoo everyone gets on their sixteenth birthday. It’s the name of your soulmate, spelled out on the inside of the left forearm, intended to help people find the person they’re meant to be with for the rest of their life. It’s a handy tool, to be able to go through life with some sort of idea who you’re looking for, and being able to look at their arm and see your own name and know that it’s true.

In all of his twenty-two years, Zayn’s never met someone who deliberately covered their tattoo-- hell, modern fashion is based around society’s obsessive need to _show off_ one’s tattoo. He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“I don’t buy into the soulmate bullshit.” That kind face gets a little hard, taking on the weary air of someone who’s had to explain this a hundred times and been met with a hundred blank stares. “I’ve never even looked at it, covered it up before I turned sixteen. Why should I let some name on my arm define who I’m going to be with? I want to date people because I like them, to fall in love in my own time, not because some tattoo said so.”

Zayn nods quietly as he fishes his stethoscope from his bag and presses it to Payne’s chest, trying to give his calmest, most understanding smile. “Makes sense to me. Bit of a shame, though. Denying some poor girl the chance to lock you down forever.”

He can hear Payne’s heartbeat quicken as he says, “Some poor boy, actually,” and maybe God loves Zayn after all.

There’s nothing more intelligent going through Zayn’s head than a series of images of things he’d like to do with (and to) this attractive and apparently gay fireman, so he just grins at his medical bag and starts packing his tools away rather than saying anything he’ll regret. “So what’s your name?” he finally gathers the brainpower to ask as the man scoots off the ambulance and gathers up his jacket once more. “That way I can know it’s you when you’re all over my newspaper tomorrow for being a proper superhero.”

The idea seems to delight, as that crinkly, joyful smile is back. “Liam,” the man says simply. “Liam Payne.”

Now it’s Zayn’s turn to have his heart leap into triple time. He’s suddenly painfully aware of the long sleeves of his uniform, of the way that the cotton he wears for warmth hides a mark of his own. He’s even more aware than usual of the ink curling across his forearm, spelling out a name that he’s traced with hopeful fingertips more times than he can count in the nearly five years since it’s appeared on his skin.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” Zayn blurts out in a rush, surprised even as he hears the words that they managed to come out somewhat clearly when his head is such a frantically jumbled mess at the moment. “Like, on a date?”

If Liam notices the chaos behind Zayn’s eyes, he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, his face just lights up in another delighted smile and he’s nodding before Zayn can even second guess his decision to ask. “Yeah, yes,” he breathes out, eyes locked on Zayn’s. “I’d really like that.”

 _And so,_ Zayn thinks as he puts Liam’s number in his phone with Liam’s name burning like fire on his left forearm, _would I._

…………………

It’s been a week.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes as he opens his door, and Zayn could get used to the sound of it. He is, however, a little distracted by the fluttering excitement of the moment by the fact that he’s come to pick Liam up for their date only to discover that his “flat” was actually a high-end condo in the ritzy side of the city. “You never told me you were posh,” he says bashfully, too busy staring at the sparkling chandelier in Liam’s foyer to think of anything more intelligent to say. “And I am _definitely_ underdressed.”

Liam is standing there looking like a vision in a black suit, primly buttoned over a white dress shirt and a slim black tie. It’s an outfit that Zayn wishes very much that Liam weren’t wearing, both because he himself is wearing ripped skinny jeans, a band tee, and a leather jacket, and because those clothes would look so much better elsewhere-- like in a pile at the end of Zayn’s bed.

But that is neither here nor there, and when Zayn manages to shake himself free of that thought Liam is shaking his head with a blush of his own. “No, no, you’re fine! It’s my fault, I should have asked where we’re going. Silly boy, I’ll just-- hold on a second, yeah? Come in, I’ll just run upstairs and change.”

He shepherds Zayn inside and disappears down a hallway into a bedroom before Zayn can say a word. It’s probably a blessing in disguise, because this gives the frazzled man a chance to run his hands through his hair and look at his own nervous reflection in the foyer mirror. There’s a noticeable shake to his hands, which isn’t surprising given the ferocity of the excited pounding of his heart. It’s been torture, waiting an entire week until both of them were free on the same night, especially when shifts are made longer by the way Zayn doubletakes at every fireman he passes hoping it’s the one he wants to see. It’s been a long week, alright, and yet even after all this time Zayn still hasn’t thought of anything clever to say to what might be the actual man of his dreams.

Liam emerges from his bedroom with a new outfit and Zayn has to stifle a groan. It’s even worse than before. No, better. No, definitely worse. Now he’s in blue jeans and a white tank top with a red plaid shirt tied around his waist, a soft grey beanie on his head and boots on his feet. It’s a little bit ridiculous but he looks so _good,_ and Zayn decides to take back all previous declarations because God definitely hates him.

“Hi,” Liam says quietly, tugging at his shirt a little nervously.

Zayn’s heartbeat quickens with fondness. “Hi.”

“Don’t think we said that before. And you-- you look incredible, by the way.”

“Me?” Zayn laughs and steps forward at last to lean in and give Liam a little kiss to his scruffy cheek. “You’re the one who looks incredible. Both before and after changing. Guess I should have told you I’m just a student who can’t really afford to take you anywhere really nice,” he finishes with an embarrassed mumble.

“Hey, I don’t care,” Liam is quick to assure him. “I’m just excited to be going on a date with you. I couldn’t care less where we go.”

Their destination, as it turns out, is Zayn’s favorite family Italian restaurant. They’ve got worn booths where the pleather on the seats is cracking and the menus are just a double-sided piece of paper with Times New Roman print of the dishes they make, but they serve heaping plates of good food for prices that even art students can afford, so it’s enough to make Zayn a regular. Liam just smiles like he’s charmed to death by the place and settles in across from Zayn without complaint.

The kindly older woman who waits on the tables comes over at once to ask for their drink orders, and Zayn tries not to shred his napkin nervously as he tries to think of something to say. “You don’t look like an off-duty fireman,” he finally settles on. “Or at least, not like I expected one to look.”

“What do off-duty fireman look like in your mind?” Liam asks with a breathy little chuckle.

“I guess I hadn’t stopped to consider that you probably aren’t all covered in soot and sweat all the time. I only ever see fireman on the scene, so I just figured that was your natural state.”

There’s a gorgeous smirk on Liam’s face that makes Zayn want to die a little bit. “You really thought I was going to go on a date with you covered in ashes and smelling like a locker room?”

“Well that’s how you looked when I asked you out, so obviously I don’t mind too much,” Zayn grins back at him. “Might not have gone with your outfit, though. _Definitely_ wouldn’t have gone with your fancy suit and tie.”

Now Liam blushes a little, scratching the back of his neck like he’s perhaps a bit abashed. “My family has money,” he explains sheepishly. “My parents put aside a trust fund for me so I could go to the best medical schools money could buy, but I’ve only ever wanted to be a fireman, so.” He shrugs. “Feels a bit silly not to spend it so I guess a nice flat is a good investment.”

Generally speaking Zayn is an intelligent young man so he understands that most people would kill to be on a date with a cute doctor, but in this particular instance, the idea of Liam in a lab coat just doesn’t seem right. “That’s amazing that you went for what you love, though,” he says softly. “Not too many people know what they want right from the start.”

Their drinks come just then and they both have to scramble to decide what they want to eat so they can put their dinner orders in, having been too busy talking to even glance at the menu. “What about you?” Liam asks when they’re by themselves once more. “Have you always wanted to be an EMT-slash-student?”

“I’m in school for art, and I guess I’ve always known I wanted to do that. Like, even as a little kid I was always painting and drawing and shit, and it just makes me happy. I work at a grocery store to pay rent, though, I’m only a volunteer EMT.” Zayn stirs his soda with his straw and chews his lip a little nervously. It’s nothing as glamorous as being a trust fund baby turned hero, that’s for sure.

But Liam just raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So you go to school, work, _and_ still volunteer? That’s amazing. Most people wouldn’t bother volunteering with their plate so full already.”

“I should probably be using that extra time to get a second job so I can afford to take handsome men on nicer dates--” Zayn flicks his eyes up to Liam and back down to his drink with a flush “--but I just love being an EMT. No one’s ever having a good night if an ambulance is getting called, but I get to help them, you know? I get to take care of people. It’s kind of like art, in an abstract way. It’s beautiful and meaningful, and you’re like, creating this moment of influence in someone’s life where you’re making a difference. It’s a bit like creating artwork in someone’s life. Sorry,” he finishes with a laugh and a shake of his head. “That didn’t even make sense. I do talk some shit sometimes.”

“No, it was beautiful,” Liam hurries to argue, his eyes bright and locked on Zayn like he’s hanging on every word. “It made perfect sense. You make an incredible impact on people, and it’s every bit as beautiful as the art you make. I don’t even have to see your work to know that.”

It’s a rather ridiculous statement, but it makes Zayn’s face feel kind of hot and his breath a little fluttery anyways.

They continue to chit chat about life and family and the like as they wait for their food, and it surprises Zayn how painless it is. Generally speaking he’s not much of a conversationalist, and smalltalk is like pulling teeth. But with Liam, he finds, it doesn’t feel like smalltalk. The topics might be the same surface-level stuff you’d talk about with someone you weren’t yet comfortable with, but for the first time Zayn can think of it feels like getting to know one another. Maybe it’s the way he can’t get enough details about Liam’s life, or the sparkle in Liam’s eye as he listens carefully to Zayn’s every word. Maybe it’s just different because it’s Liam.

It’s impossible to say how much time passes before their food arrives, but it feels like the blink of an eye. They both look up at the waitress in surprise and have to lean back out of the way of the plates coming to rest before them, not realizing they were leaning in close towards one another until the spell between them is broken. “You’re gonna love the lasagna, it’s amazing here,” Zayn says earnestly with a nod towards Liam’s plate, slipping off his leather jacket so as not to make a mess of the sleeves in his own plate.

He’s waiting for Liam to take a bite and confirm that it is in fact the best lasagna he’s ever had, but Liam is too busy staring at Zayn’s arm. “Your mark,” he says in surprise, eyes flicking between it and Zayn’s face. “You covered it.”

The inside of Zayn’s forearm is covered in body paint, doodled over the name there with intricate swirls of red and blue and and shimmering gold. It completely obscures the tattoo beneath, the vibrant colors blocking out the ink and keeping Zayn’s secret safe and sound.

Zayn swallows and traces his wrist where the paint stops almost instinctively. “Yeah, did it this afternoon,” he says quietly. “I figured if it doesn’t matter to you, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m not going to force you to know what name is on my arm.”

“That’s so--” Liam doesn’t appear to know how to finish the sentence. “I’ve never met anyone who understands why I don’t want to know. It’s not that I specifically want to date people who aren’t my soulmate, I just-- I just want to be with someone who makes me happy, without having to know how it’ll all end. You know?”

There’s a little pause. Zayn knows the name that lies beneath the paint on his arm, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t draw him that much closer to Liam. It’s this irresistible current that runs through your life and drags you with it, even when you try to swim your own way, and Zayn looks into Liam’s eyes and sees the earnestness there and _understands._ He just wants to be free of the current. He just wants to enjoy the swim without knowing quite where he’s meant to go.

“I think it’s incredible, that you want to make your own way,” he just says softly. “And I don’t think anyone should ever take that away from you. If you don’t want to know what my arm says, or what your arm says, then I say okay.”

Liam reaches across the table and tangles his hand with Zayn’s, the bandage on his own wrist looking less strange compared to Zayn’s hurricane of color. “Thank you,” he says simply, and that says it all. “Thank you.”

They eat until they’re both stuffed full of pasta, but seeing as they’re 20-something men, the first thing they think about upon exiting the restaurant is dessert. It’s a beautiful night, beautiful enough that they’re both content to wander through the city in search of something sweet. After a few minutes, Liam’s knuckles brush against Zayn’s in a shy request. Zayn ducks his head to hide a smile and laces their fingers together just as quick as he can.

After about a half hour of wandering, they come across a little cheesecake shop that’s just about to close for the night, and duck inside to get decadent slices in little to go boxes. “I know a place where we can sit and eat, if you want,” Liam offers. “It’s right around the corner.”

“Take me away, then.”

It’s the firehouse where Liam works, as it turns out, lit up brightly despite the late hour, shiny red trucks ready to go at a moment’s notice. “This okay?” asks Liam, seeming relieved when Zayn just smiles and nods. “Wanna take you up to the roof. It’s got a beautiful view.”

He isn’t lying. They climb the stairs to the roof hand in hand and when they push open the door to the outside, Zayn feels his heart stutter a little with the sight of the city sprawled out before him. The stars are bright above them, the clouds having breezed away like the night was made just for them, and Zayn squeezes Liam’s hand tight in his own. “This,” he murmurs, “is perfection.”

They wind up perched on the side of the roof with their legs dangling over the side, slowly eating their cheesecake and pretending like they aren’t intentionally dragging out the night. Zayn smudges a bit of chocolate drizzle on Liam’s nose. Liam steals a bite from his plate in retribution. Zayn leans in to cheekily lick the chocolate from Liam’s face and then takes advantage of his stunned silence to steal a bite of his strawberry. This is perfection.

Eventually the night gets a bit of a chill, and Liam leads them back inside the firehouse and out of the cold. Zayn’s eyes light up when he sees the gleaming gold fireman’s pole disappearing through a hole in the floor down to the first story. “I thought those were just a myth. I didn’t know firefighters actually used those.”

“They’re quite handy, actually,” Liam answers cheerily. “Good for a quick getaway.” He reaches out and takes hold of the pole, wrapping his legs around it and sliding down and out of sight as Zayn laughs joyously. He steps forward to peer through the hole and as soon as he sees Liam is clear from the bottom, he’s mimicking Liam’s form and sliding right down, catching himself gracefully at the bottom like he’s been doing it all his life. Liam looks at him a little dazed. “Hello again.”

“That’s it? ‘Hello’?” teases Zayn, letting go of the cool metal after a second and instead sauntering forward to hook his index fingers through Liam’s belt loops and pull him closer. “Not even a joke about how good I look on a pole? Shit, I’ve missed my mark, then.”

A single, surprised giggle makes its way through Liam’s lips before he’s reaching up to cup Zayn’s face in both hands and gently, delicately, leaning in for a kiss. Zayn could cry from how right it feels, the closeness of their bodies, the callouses on Liam’s hands caressing his cheeks yet softly, the slow and intimate drag of their lips together. It feels like they’ve been leading up to this all night, or all week, or forever.

The kiss doesn’t stay gentle for long --or at least, it doesn’t stay _chaste._ Zayn starts thumbing at the soft skin between the top of Liam’s jeans and the bottom of his shirt, and Liam’s hands stray down from face to shoulders, shoulders to waist, waist to hips, and then, cheekily, down to slip his hands into Zayn’s back pockets. Zayn gives a little hum of approval and parts his lips, letting Liam lick eagerly inside for a second before the broader man pulls himself back from Zayn and lets out a shaky breath. “Christ. Shouldn’t be kissing you like that, I’m technically at my workplace.”

“What an angel, sitting there worrying about propriety when most would just say fuck all.” Zayn grins and gives Liam’s cheek a playful pinch, heart still pounding from the way a kiss can feel like entire universes aligning.

“That’s what I was thinking about _you,_ that first night,” Liam confesses, removing his hands from Zayn’s body to cover his face in embarrassment. “Remember when you asked if I was alright and I said I was just thinking about something dumb? I thought you were gorgeous and the only thing I could think of was that pickup line about how it must have hurt when you fell from heaven. It’s a miracle I didn’t actually say it out loud.”

“It might have worked on me,” Zayn answers nonchalantly. It’s a lie. It definitely would have.

Liam leans in for another kiss just as one of his fellow firemen walks into the room and gives a raucous catcall, and Zayn jumps backwards about three feet in surprise. Liam’s laughter echoes off the tall ceilings and personally, Zayn thinks he should come here more often if it’s filled with such beautiful sounds.

…………………

It’s been a month.

Zayn’s lost track of how many dates they’ve been on, how many evenings spent together eating dinner or walking through the city or curled up on Liam’s couch watching the superhero movies they’ve discovered a mutual passion for. A month of kisses that feel like miracles and fingers tightly laced together, a month of warm hands on soft bodies always exploring one another. They slip into it so easily, this blossoming relationship. It feels comfortable right from the start and neither of them seems to wonder at it, never hesitating, just going along with what feels right.

Zayn is on Liam’s couch now with the credits to Iron Man 3 playing in the background, snuggled between the back of the couch and Liam’s larger frame. Maybe some would find it claustrophobic, but Zayn rather enjoys the feeling of Liam’s body pressed against him from head to toe, removing all the space between them. He rather enjoys the feeling of Liam’s body, period.

They’re kissing each other slowly and just a touch dirtily. Liam’s knee nudges between Zayn’s thighs and Zayn feels a rush of excitement zoom up his spine. “Liam?”

“Mmm?”

“How do you feel about sex?”

Liam freezes for a long moment. “Uh, I greatly enjoy sex.”

“And how do you feel about, you know,” Zayn takes a steadying breath, “sex with me?”

One of Zayn’s hands is trapped between their chests, his palm over Liam’s heart, and he can feel the way it starts thumping a little harder. They bump noses as Liam gives a quick little half-nod before aborting it and just stuttering, “I- I think I would greatly enjoy sex with you, too?”

It’s the first time they’ve talked about it. It’s not like they haven’t gotten semis before as they snogged each other senseless, it’s just that they’ve always been too polite to mention it. And for all the exploring their hands have done, it’s always been pretty PG-13. Now, though, there’s a piece of Liam between Zayn’s thighs and he might be weak but it just isn’t in him to resist grinding down a little bit and enjoying the feel of friction, however slight.

It doesn’t take long for Liam to respond, capturing Zayn’s mouth in a kiss once more and shifting his thigh up so it’s snugger against Zayn’s body. Every time Zayn rocks into him his breath catches like it’s _him_ that’s getting off instead of Zayn. His kisses turn a little more crushing, a little more insistent, until he starts to feel the outline of Zayn’s cock hardening up against his thigh.

Only then does he pull back, a little string of spit connecting their mouths from their messy kiss, and searches Zayn’s eyes. “Were you being serious? Do you want to--?”

“I’m assuming you have a bed somewhere in this mansion flat of yours,” Zayn replies coolly, eyes locked on Liam’s as he continues to grind into his thigh, “and unless you have any objections, I’d like to see it now.”

Liam lets out a little sigh that sounds to be about half relief and half delight, maneuvering off the couch at once and standing up to let Zayn do the same. He offers his hand and Zayn can feel that it’s just a touch sweaty with nerves as he leads them down the hallway, looking back over his shoulder every few steps like he can’t quite believe Zayn is still trailing along behind him. Zayn just holds on tightly to his hand and makes sure to keep up.

They emerge into the bedroom at the end of their short journey and Liam pulls him into the middle of the room, using the hand that isn’t in Zayn’s to gesture at the king size canopy bed in the middle. “Said you wanted to see it,” he offers weakly. “Ta-da.”

Zayn takes a step forward until they’re chest to chest, trying to breathe in all the nervousness rolling off of Liam and breathing it out again clean and pure. “Liam.”

“Yeah?”

 _“Liam,”_ Zayn says again, quietly insistent.

This time Liam just nods, letting the sound of his name wash over him. He hears it, hears the things that Zayn isn’t saying, and that fumbling sensation is gone. Zayn closes his eyes and knows without seeing that Liam is leaning in to kiss him, softer than before but no less urgently. The hands that slide up beneath his shirt are steady, trailing up until they’re pulling the shirt up and over Zayn’s head. Goosebumps erupt over his skin from the cool air of the room and like magnetism Liam’s lips are on his skin, trailing warm kisses down his shoulder.

Zayn would probably be content to stand here forever feeling Liam’s scruff brush across his skin as the man finds all kinds of previously unkissed places on his body that he needs to press his lips to if there weren’t so much more he wanted tonight. “Off,” he murmurs, tugging at the hem of Liam’s shirt, and he doesn’t even let the man toss it aside before he’s already got his hands at Liam’s belt. Liam’s eyes flutter closed and he swallows, hard, fingertips resting at Zayn’s bare waist as his jeans are pushed down and he’s left standing in his boxers.

“What do you want?” Liam asks, just above a whisper. Zayn hears the silent _whatever you want._

“You.”

A crooked smile. “How?”

Zayn actually pauses for a second, running his tongue across his well-kissed bottom lip as he considers carefully. “Want you to fuck me,” he says at last, savoring the way Liam’s eyes go just a bit wider. “Want you inside of me, Liam, please.”

The fingertips at his waist turn to strong hands gripping firm and Zayn’s being backed towards the bed, lifted up onto the high mattress and nudged until he’s lying back with just his legs dangling over the edge. “Thought you might want to take it slow,” Liam murmurs against the soft skin of his stomach, where he’s pressing feverish kisses to the line where skin meets rough denim. “Which I would have been fine with, I mean I’m not an asshole, I just-- I’m really glad you don’t want to take it slow.”

If anything, Liam’s the slow one here, taking his sweet time unfastening Zayn’s jeans and pulling them off even as Zayn is actively trying to arch up towards his mouth for friction. It’s worth the wait, though, when one of Liam’s big hands comes up to palm at Zayn through his briefs. He’s definitely hard now, bucking up into the touch and squirming impatiently on the bed. “‘ve wanted you since I met you, Liam,” he says a little breathlessly, “and that’s slow enough for me.”

With that, Liam is sliding the briefs down Zayn’s thighs and wasting no time drawing his tongue up the underside of Zayn’s flushed cock. “You taste like Zayn,” he says ridiculously, taking the tip into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. “You taste delicious.”

Zayn can’t even think of anything clever or scathing to say in response to such sappy pillow talk, so he buries his fingers in Liam’s short hair and holds on tight. Liam sucks cock like he does almost everything in his day-to-day life: firmly, powerfully, confidently, and with an air of innocence that says he perhaps doesn’t realize quite how good he is at it. He’s extraordinary, though, in truth-- perhaps entirely because he just does it fearlessly. There’s no hesitation in the drag of his lips up and down Zayn’s length, no anxious fluttering of his throat muscles whenever he takes Zayn nice and deep. He’s just bent over Zayn giving it a hundred percent and Zayn thinks he might actually have died and gone to heaven.

Liam’s tongue is rubbing distractingly on the underside of Zayn’s cock, and it almost makes Zayn miss the way that Liam is starting to nudge down further and take Zayn into his throat. It isn’t until he feels the tip of a nose tickling at the fine hair of his happy trail that Zayn’s cock flexes in response and Liam’s throat clenches in a little gag. He doesn’t pull back, though, pushing further still with his brow furrowed in concentration, eyelashes fluttering happily as he fucking _chokes_ on Zayn’s _cock--_

Zayn throws one arm over his face in desperation, the silk scarf that is today’s tattoo covering turning a few shades darker with the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. _Of course he can deepthroat,_ a deep and somewhat lucid part of Zayn’s brain reasons. _Of course. He_ is _designed to kill me, after all._

He’d be perfectly happy to lie here forever, feeling that tension building up slowly in his gut, until he was begging and arching up off the bed and coming right down Liam’s throat. It’s like he’s floating on this little cloud of contentedness and nothing can bring him down-- except perhaps the thought that if Liam’s this good with his _mouth_ …

“What the actual fuck,” he groans as a shiver of pleasure runs through him, the hand in Liam’s hair turning to gently but firmly push him off.

Liam pulls back at once, the back of one hand coming up to swipe at the mess around his mouth. “What’s the matter, babe, what did I do?” he asks with concern, pupils blown wide but eyes still nothing but kind. “You alright?”

“What the _actual_ fuck,” Zayn repeats, shaking his head. “How are you this attractive? How do you-- forget it. Get on this bed with me immediately.”

A smile comes across Liam’s face when he realizes that nothing’s truly wrong, and he climbs up beside Zayn at once. “You’re kind of bossy when you want to get off, did you know that?” he asks, even as he manhandles Zayn to lay in the center of the bed with his head resting on downy pillows. “Very demanding.”

“I wouldn’t have to make demands if you weren’t such a tease,” Zayn fires back, which fits given the way Liam is thumbing at the inside of his thigh even now. “Come on, then. Do you have lube? Please tell me you have lube.”

Liam’s breath stutters again as he’s reminded what’s to come, and then he’s leaning over to the nightstand with a nod. He holds it out to Zayn like an offering, a condom placed neatly on the bed next to them. “Do you want to, or should I--?”

“Have you ever topped before?”

He’s so blunt, and Zayn knows it’s stunning sometimes, but he watches Liam’s face turn to pink and doesn’t regret it. “Yeah, I have. Wanna make you feel good, Zayn,” he adds like an afterthought in a whisper.

Zayn lets his thighs fall open ever so slightly like an invitation that it isn’t in Liam’s power to refuse. “So do it then, babe.”

Liam does it. He’s got steady fingers that he coats with lube and they’re gentle as they press into Zayn one by one, coaxing and easing him open with patience. Zayn distracts himself from the stretch by reaching down into Liam’s boxers to wrap his hand around him, sucking in a breath at the size. It’s not that he’s the type to go all cheesy pornstar and start moaning about how big his partner is, it’s just that he’s even more excited to get a move on now, that’s all.

He’s steady tugging Liam off and Liam has three fingers deep inside of him, and there’s a breathless few minutes where it feels like a competition to see who can draw the best noises out of the other. Liam’s just panting into Zayn’s mouth, breath hitching and little whimpers falling from his lips whenever Zayn flicks his wrist just right. Zayn, on the other hand, never quite manages to _stop_ making noise, a steady whine buzzing out of his chest as Liam rubs his fingertips right over that little bundle of nerves inside of him. Eventually he has to swallow back a groan and push Liam’s hand from between his thighs with an insistent, “Condom, Liam.”

He isn’t met with any kind of protest, Liam leaning back at once to shimmy out of his boxers and roll the condom down his length. “God, you look good,” he says a little hungrily as he looks Zayn over, all sprawled out on his bed like this. He’s got the bottle of lube and is drizzling a little more over his cock, spreading it carefully with a familiar hand that makes his hips twitch. “Dunno if I’ve ever used the word ‘gorgeous’ to tell you what I see when I look at you, but--” He breaks off there and swallows, hard.

Zayn tangles his fingers in with those of Liam’s free hand and pulls him in until he’s hovering over Zayn on hands and knees and his face is close enough for him to lean in and give Zayn a slow kiss. “Thank you,” Zayn murmurs against his lips. “My Liam.”

They’re still kissing when Liam lines himself up and pushes in, and Zayn’s breath stops. For a moment the only thing he can hear is the pounding of his own pulse as Liam stretches him almost painfully even after that careful preparation. His legs are hooked around Liam’s hips and he reaches down between them to run his fingertips over where he’s stretched tight to take Liam.

“I’ve got you,” Liam says lowly like he can read Zayn’s mind, knocking aside that slender hand so he can stroke gently over Zayn’s cock. He keeps his hips still while Zayn fights to start breathing again, waiting until Zayn isn’t softening in his hand and those narrow hips are rocking down onto him ever so slightly to start drawing back out and pushing in once more. Zayn feels the breath get punched out of him in a little moan and his fingers are suddenly tight on Liam’s forearm by his head, nails digging into the soft fabric of the bandage covering his tattoo. “You alright?”

Zayn drags his eyes open so he can look up into Liam’s for a second before Liam makes another press inside him and they flutter shut once more. “Yeah,” he manages to get out on one of the few wisps of air in his lungs. “I’m perfect.”

It isn’t going to last very long, and both of them know it. Zayn is all full of Liam with a warm hand pumping his cock, and Liam is buried deep inside Zayn’s tight body watching him fall apart beneath him. After a few minutes the slide of their hips coming together and apart and together again like magnets gets easier and Liam starts to move faster, the sound of skin meeting skin drowned out only by the heavy breaths between them and the way they refuse to stop talking to one another. At first it’s compliments, then instructions, then pleas, until finally it’s just Zayn arching his back off the mattress and begging Liam not to stop and Liam firmly insisting that he never will.

In the end it’s Zayn who comes first, shouting out one last, “Yes, Liam!” and thrusting up into Liam’s fist before he’s dripping white all down Liam’s fist and onto his own belly. Liam fucks him right through it and the instant Zayn’s grip on him slackens with relief he’s pulling out and fumbling to toss the condom aside. His hand is still covered in Zayn’s come and it makes his strokes slick as he leans in to kiss Zayn and tugs himself off, coming with a bite to Zayn’s already swollen lip as he jerks his hips forward into the circle of his fist and makes his own mess of Zayn.

For a minute they lie there, forehead to forehead, eyes closed and pulses racing, until finally Liam sits back to look at what he’s done. The come on Zayn’s stomach has run down the slope of his concave body and collected in his belly button like some kind of obscene body shot, and Liam leans in without a second thought. He isn’t even sure whether it’s his or Zayn’s but he still ducks down and lets his tongue dip into the little crevasse, collecting the bittersweet mess in his mouth and swallowing it just as Zayn meets his eyes.

Zayn keeps waiting for his heart to slow back down to a normal pace but it never does, especially not when Liam crawls back up his body to kiss him with the taste of come on his lips. He’s barely done kissing him ‘til the only taste left is Liam when the man is flopping down beside him and tangling his clean hand with Zayn’s. “You,” he says to Zayn a little drunkenly, “are phenomenal.”

“You’re the one who did all the work, you dirty fucker,” Zayn laughs breathily, grin spreading wide across his face. “Who knew you had it in you. I had you pegged for a cupcake.”

“I _am_ a cupcake, I’m really very sweet,” Liam insists, rising from the bed to fetch a cloth from the adjoining bathroom as if to prove it. “Just, like, I also was right when I said I thought I’d very much enjoy sex with you.”

Zayn just gives a little giggle at that and lies still as Liam gently wipes him clean, making sure all sources of potential discomfort are gone from his skin before leaning down to give a quick kiss to the fresh silk of his tummy. He cleans himself up, too, far less gingerly, before pulling the covers out from beneath Zayn and climbing in next to him, covering them up with just a soft silk sheet. Zayn stretches out his limbs to test where he’ll be aching tomorrow (just about everywhere, which delights him) and settles into Liam’s side with a satisfied sigh.

Absentminded fingers card through Zayn’s hair, and after a long moment Liam clears his throat. “I cover it up because I’m afraid, you know.” Zayn looks wordlessly up at him and finds that he has his eyes closed, like he’s talking to himself rather than Zayn. “What if I never find them? What if I know who I’m supposed to be looking for but our paths never cross? I’m afraid of spending my whole life loving someone that I might never know.”

The scarf wrapped delicately around Zayn’s forearm is suddenly such a prominent sensation, and for a second the words are right there on the tip of his tongue. He could tell Liam, could just blurt it out and let him know that maybe forever isn’t as unlikely as it seems. It would be easy, to tell him, tangled up here together in this bed.

But the moment isn’t right, and Zayn feels that somewhere deep in his bones, so he swallows back the words and traces his fingers across Liam’s chest instead. “What is it with you about confessions after firsts? The first time we kissed you told me about your dumb pickup line. Now the first time we sleep together you tell me your deep, dark fears.”

Liam laughs a little at that, jostling Zayn enough that he runs his fingers through those dark locks again in apology. “Must be something about you. You make me braver.”

Zayn thinks about the man who ran into an inferno to save a puppy the first day they met, and about how defying fate even out of fear is still the bravest thing he thinks he’s ever seen, and shakes his head just a tiny bit. “Impossible.”

They don’t talk for a long while after that. Neither one falls asleep, but they just lie there together, quiet, feeling each other breathe and basking in the moment. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. It’s natural, as odd as that word feels flitting through Zayn’s mind. He might not know what name lies on Liam’s skin, but Zayn thinks to himself that perhaps this is what it feels like to find the other piece of your soul.

…………………

It’s been five months.

Zayn’s actually started gaining some traction in the local art community with his exploratory graffiti on canvas style, and after many nights sneaking into Liam’s bed in the wee morning hours smelling like spray paint and cigarettes, he gets an offer to have some of his work displayed in a gallery downtown as part of an exhibit on urban art. Liam snogs him for an hour straight in celebration, and when a quiet little, “Love you so much, so proud of you,” slips out for the first time, Zayn just grins and says, “I love you too.”

They both get all dressed up for the exhibit’s opening night, Liam back in that scrumptious suit Zayn saw him in the night of their first date and Zayn in a similar (though infinitely cheaper) version. They make quite the dashing couple, as they’re told multiple times throughout the night by people who come up to Zayn to congratulate him on his work. There’s this bubble of happiness that can’t be squelched growing steadily in Zayn’s chest, all full up of pride and excitement and passion. He thinks that for the first time he understands what people mean when they say they’re high on life.

It certainly feels a bit like being high, when the night is over and they’re waltzing out into the quiet late-night air with linked hands swinging jovially between them. “I can’t believe they put my art in a gallery, even just for a few weeks,” Zayn says breathlessly, grinning up at the starry sky. “Can you imagine? Me, in a gallery like a proper artist.”

Liam pulls up short and tugs Zayn to his chest with a fond smile. “Of course I can imagine. You’re an incredible artist. Your work was the best stuff in the gallery tonight.”

“You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“I do,” Liam says with an even wider grin, “but I’m not. I really am so proud of you, Zayn. You deserve this.”

The happy bubble in Zayn’s chest swells impossibly larger when Liam kisses him, and he’s already such a live wire that the second Liam’s tongue touches his it goes straight to his cock. He isn’t even ashamed of the way he presses in close to Liam, or of the way he makes Liam choke a little in surprise at the change of tone. “I’m so happy, Li,” he just says by way of explanation, and thrives on the way the words send a happy hum through Liam’s chest as well.

A few minutes later they’ve stumbled their way into the alley by the gallery and Zayn is pressed up against the wall, the bricks hard against his back but Liam’s hand soft as it tugs steadily on his cock. There’s no tease in it, just celebration, and Zayn feels himself get higher and higher with every kiss Liam leaves on his neck. It’s been a shockingly short amount of time and Zayn’s already so close, but frankly he’s too far gone to care.

Liam’s left hand slips down the back of Zayn’s slacks to press lightly at his hole and Zayn squirms away from the touch, already overwhelmed enough by the thrill of the night and the feel of his cock sliding through Liam’s fist. He doesn’t have to say a word for Liam to understand --Liam always just _understands--_ and the hand is quickly withdrawn, but there’s a catch and the feel of cloth unwinding and Zayn realizes even through the haze of impending orgasm that Liam’s wrap has just come undone.

There’s a moment where their eyes lock and for just a second Zayn thinks that Liam might look down, might for the first time in all these years let his eyes fall on the name that graces his skin and see the truth. But then Liam uses his free hand to cup the tip of Zayn’s cock and give it some friction as he strokes and Zayn is coming white hot and feeling the brick wall scrape at his back as he struggles to get impossibly closer to Liam. Their lips meet and there’s fearlessness and love and Zayn has rarely tasted a thing so sweet.

It takes him a minute to come around to reality after that, but when he does, Liam’s eyes are closed and he’s refastening the bandage around his arm with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this hundreds upon hundreds of times. “Ought to have brought tissues,” Liam jokes when he opens his eyes and finds Zayn looking at him, eyeing the mess on his hands like nothing even happened.

It’s impossible to say what exactly it is, but Zayn feels a change in the air just in that hint of a moment. Something shifts, or maybe something needs to.

…………………

It’s been a year.

A couple of months back Zayn had officially moved in with Liam, and while he’d never _intended_ to find himself a hot, rich boyfriend and live in the lap of luxury, the silk sheets certainly were nice. They made even the lonely nights, the nights where Liam was on duty at the station and Zayn was sleeping alone, a little more bearable. He can still cuddle into the soft sheets and wrap himself up in down and imagine that the feel of being swaddled is Liam’s strong arms around him and the sound in his ear is that of Liam’s gentle snores.

Except that the sound is actually rather grating and loud, and as it jerks Zayn from slumber he realizes it’s his phone on the nightstand blaring away despite the clock reading half three in the morning. He fishes it off the table and into bed with him with a scowl that only deepens when he realizes it’s one of his coworkers from the hospital. “Do you have a fucking clue what time it is, Scott?” he answers the phone grumpily, eyes burning from the light of having looked at the screen.

“Zayn, you need to get to the hospital right away.”

“I’m not supposed to be on call tonight, I’m on Friday--”

“It isn’t for work,” Scott interrupts, and Zayn feels his stomach drop with a speed that shouldn’t be possible given that he’s only just woken up thirty seconds ago. _Don’t say it,_ he silently wills, but Scott does anyways. “It’s Liam.”

“What happened? Is he alright?” Zayn demands as he scrambles from bed and pulls on the first clothes he can find, hands shaking with the sudden fear wracking through his body. It feels like he’s choking, the knowledge that his worst nightmare is coming true lodged firmly in his throat.

“He’s in intensive care, third degree burns on his shoulder,” Scott says in what he probably thinks is a calm and soothing voice. Zayn is still choking. “There was a fire and the house already had some structural issues. He got trapped under a fallen beam and it took a while to pull him free. They put him under for the pain, he’s still out. I called as soon as I realized who he was.”

It’s fucked up, is what it is, because Zayn was sound asleep in bed while Liam was trapped and in pain and the universe has to be a horrifying place for him not to have _known._ He should have felt it, he should have woken up and known something was wrong, he should have _been there._ He should have been there to protect the most important person in the world but he _wasn’t_ and it makes Zayn break a lot of traffic laws as he races to the hospital.

He doesn’t even bother trying to converse with the nurses in the emergency room, just snatching the keyboard from one and typing in Liam’s name with practiced ease until he finds a room number. A quick sprint up two flights of stairs. Scott is pacing nervously outside the room and holds his hands up as soon as he sees Zayn running down the hall. “He looks worse than he actually is-” he begins to reason. Zayn shoves right past him into the room.

There’s Liam, in the hospital bed, monitors beeping and wires running all over connecting an oxygen feed and a morphine drip and all kinds of vital-taking paraphernalia. He’s rolled over onto his right side, the left shoulder of his gown pulled away to show fresh white bandages covering him from collarbones down to his hip. Zayn’s seen far worse and yet nothing that’s ever struck quite so much terror into his bones.

A ragged gasp gets dragged from his lips, and Liam’s eyes flutter open at the sound. “Zayn, baby,” he says weakly. “I was hoping they wouldn’t call you right away--”

“Shut up,” Zayn snaps, hands rocking with tremors as he grabs the chart from the end of Liam’s bed and pores over the pages with rabid attention.

“Baby, it’s alright, you--”

“Shut _up,_ Liam!” Zayn insists harshly, voice cracking. His eyes are still scraping over the words on the chart, taking in diagnoses and dosages like his life depends on it, which possibly it does. He reads the whole thing several times, carefully, before hanging the chart back where it belongs and burying his face in his hands. There’s only silence in the room except for the beeping of the monitors. “Are you alright?” he manages to ask at last.

“You’re the one who speaks doctor, what did my chart say?”

“Don’t-- don’t fucking get saucy with me right now,” Zayn says weakly, finally dropping his hands so he can meet Liam’s eyes. He wonders if he looks as old and worn as he feels right here in this moment.

Liam swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and tilts his head. “C’mere. Please?”

Zayn moves stiffly to the edge of Liam’s bed and perches on the mattress, letting Liam gingerly take his hand and bring it up to his chapped lips to kiss his knuckles. “I’m alright,” he says quietly. “I’m right here.”

“You’re not alright,” Zayn retorts miserably, and he has to scrub at his cheek with the back of his free hand because there are tears running down his face. “You’re in a fucking hospital bed. You’re covered in burns and bandages.”

“But I’m _here,”_ Liam insists, squeezing Zayn’s hand in what he probably thinks is a reassuring way. It’s weaker than normal, though, which makes another tear squeeze out of Zayn’s eye. “Don’t cry, baby, please. Everything’s fine. I made it out of there, I’m alright.”

“And what about next time, when you aren’t? When you _don’t_ make it out?” Zayn says fiercely, something akin to hysteria rising up in his chest. “You run into goddamn burning buildings like it’s nothing, like it’s not the most dangerous fucking thing on the planet! I could lose you any day of the week because of this fucking job, Liam, so don’t tell me everything’s fine when I’m a phone call away from you fucking dead in a body bag--”

“Zayn,” Liam says with heartbreak in his voice, groggy limbs struggling as he tries to sit up, reaching for his partner. “Zayn, baby--”

“Lay the fuck down!” Zayn says harshly, his hand on Liam’s chest squelching even those meager attempts at movement. “I don’t need your fucking brave gestures here, Liam.”

This whole time Liam’s been calm and patient, but for the first time since Zayn entered the room he has tears of frustration pricking at his eyes. “I’m just trying to comfort you, Z.”

Zayn cries. He takes one look at Liam, too weak to even give him hell like he usually does, and bawls his eyes out. He cries so hard his stomach aches. He cries until his head throbs and his palms get pruney from being pressed against all the tears. He feels Liam’s hand on his thigh, thumb making tiny circles of comfort, and cries even harder.

Eventually Zayn seems to be out of tears, and as the last few leave his body, so does the last of the hysteria. He feels kind of empty, with all of that frantic energy gone, but Liam just looks relieved to see Zayn’s face again, even if it is tear-stained. “You alright, love?” he asks Zayn, sounding a bit ridiculous considering that he’s the one in the hospital bed.

Zayn just drags his sleeve across his eyes --leather jacket, terrible tissue-- and sniffles. “I love you,” he says raspily, voice hoarse from his sobs. He leans down and presses his forehead to Liam’s ever so gently. “I just love you and I’m terrified of losing you.”

Liam nods, and runs his thumb across Zayn’s thigh again. “My job is part of who I am.”

“I know. I know it is. It’s not about the job, I’m just-- scared. I don’t ever want to let you go, Liam.”

Maybe the morphine is getting to Liam again, because he takes a while to reply. “Well sometimes you have to let things go,” he murmurs. “You’re stronger than you think you are, you can do it.”

“Don’t even talk like that, Liam,” Zayn says tiredly, without anger enough left in him to even bristle at the idea. “Of course I’m never gonna let you go. I promise.”

“What happens if you meet your soulmate, Z? You already know his name. You don’t have the luxury of ignorance like I do. Someday you’re going to find him and you’re going to have to let me go, and that’s okay.”

There isn’t a trace of kidding in his voice, and Zayn draws back to look at Liam with a sort of somber finality. “Oh, Liam,” he sighs. “I think it’s time to look.”

The beeping from the monitor picks up at once as Liam’s heart starts to beat faster. He doesn’t say a word, though. He doesn’t try to move away when Zayn takes his arm gingerly in his own two hands and slips a finger beneath the tucked end of the bandage. He only closes his eyes as the bandage unravels, a single tear squeezing out of the corner of his eye as the fabric falls away and Zayn runs his fingers reverently over the pale skin and dark ink.

“C’mon, babe,” Zayn urges gently, and Liam opens eyes full of equal parts fear and hope.

Tears fall in earnest and he can’t hold back the watery little laugh that comes forth. “You could have any name in the world on your arm, but I always knew. I always knew you were it for me.”

Zayn pulls his hands away and slowly slides his jacket off, the tattoo he hadn’t bothered to conceal in his rush to the hospital looking almost luminous in the the dim room. Liam keeps his eyes screwed firmly shut, tears falling quicker as his heart pounds on the monitor. “I’m afraid,” he whispers. “That you’re it for me but I might not be it for you. I try so hard to be brave, but I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Zayn answers quietly. “It’s time, though.”

Liam’s eyes flutter for just a moment and his breath stops as he opens them at last, held in suspense for one torturous second before his eyes find this unseen part of him and take in the ink that curls across his skin in the most beautiful word he’s ever seen.

It’s like a dam breaks and Liam is sobbing, relief all over his features. He doesn’t even have to say anything, he just pulls Zayn’s arm close to him and presses kisses all over his name while Zayn runs gentle fingers through his hair. “See?” Zayn says sweetly, his own voice still a little raw. “Told you I’d never let you go. I promised you, babe. You’re it for me.”

Liam just cries a little more, but Zayn doesn’t hold it against him. Sometimes, Zayn thinks to himself, honest is the biggest kind of brave you can be.

…………………

It’s been five years.

The left arm is now Liam’s favorite part of his body, since it’s adorned not only with the name of his soulmate, but with the wedding band that tells the world he’s found the one and is keeping him forever. Left arms are good at holding someone close when you dance, or straightening pictures that you’re hanging on the wall of the house you buy together, or for wrapping around a soft waist in the middle of the night when the other side of the bed is just too far away.

Left arms, he’s also coming to find, are wonderful for cradling little ones. He needs the right one to trace the lines of their newly adopted daughter’s lips, of her sleeping eyes, of the little button nose that he swears impossibly is Zayn’s, but the left arm can be strong for holding her to his chest and keeping her safe.

Sometimes it’s the left arm that reaches out to snag Zayn as he’s walking by to drag him in for a kiss, but always, _always_ it’s his lips that curve up into a smile when Zayn walks into the room. It’s his heart that swells when he finds Zayn asleep in the rocking chair with baby fast asleep on his chest. It’s his knees that still get weak when he sees Zayn laid out before him just as beautiful and adoring as the first time.

The thing about soulmates, Liam comes to find, is that there’s this kind of love that takes up your whole body. It’s a head to toe love, a past to future love, the kind of love that doesn’t even make sense except for that when you feel it, your soul just kind of smiles and you find yourself thinking, _this is where I belong._

There is a place by Zayn’s side that Liam loves to inhabit, and Liam’s soul smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because honestly what could be better than pigheaded Liam and patient, loving Zayn letting him do things his way?
> 
> ~~Sorry to everyone waiting on the four other fics I'm currently working on in turns, this one just called to me ok I promise the others are almost done so there will be much new material posted soon~~
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


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